**A Diary Entry – Mum, How Could You?**
I still can’t believe that conversation with Mum actually happened. I called her just to say hello, to ask how she was, and suddenly I was thrust into the middle of a family drama that turned everything upside down. *”Mum, are you serious?”* I nearly shouted into the phone. *”I’m your only son, I have a son, your only grandson, whom you’ve never even met—and you’re giving your flat to some stranger? And then you greet me like nothing’s happened: ‘Hello, love, long time no speak’?”* Mum stayed silent on the other end while I simmered with hurt and disbelief. How could she do this to me?
My name is Edward, I’m thirty-five, and I’m Mum’s only child. Our relationship has always been… complicated. When I was little, she worked two jobs to keep us afloat, and for that, I’ll always be grateful. But her stubborn independence and tendency to make decisions alone built a wall between us. After I married Emily and our son Oliver was born, I hoped Mum would finally open up to our family. But she never came to meet him—always too busy, or unwell. I didn’t push; I called once a month, sent photos of Oliver, got short replies: *”Lovely, dear. Happy for you.”* And now? I find out she’s signed her flat over to some woman named Harriet.
It started when Aunt Margaret, Mum’s sister, rang me in a panic. *”Your mother’s given her flat away,”* she said. I thought she’d got it wrong—but no. Mum had transferred ownership to this Harriet, a woman who, according to Mum, *”helps around the house.”* I was stunned. That flat isn’t just bricks and mortar. It’s where I grew up, where Mum and Dad built their life together. And now it belongs to a stranger?
I called Mum straight away. She answered like everything was normal. *”Yes, Edward, I’ve signed it over to Harriet,”* she said calmly. *”She’s kind—brings my shopping, helps clean. You’re so far away, love, you’ve got your own life.”* I didn’t know what to say. Yes, we live a few hours away, but I’ve always offered help! Every call, I asked if she needed anything, offered to visit, to pay for a carer. But she’d wave me off: *”I’m fine, don’t fuss.”* And now, suddenly, I’m *”too far,”* and Harriet’s her guardian angel?
I asked who this woman even was. Turns out, she’s a neighbour who started dropping by a couple of years ago—running errands, driving Mum to the countryside. *”She’s like a daughter to me,”* Mum said. I’m not against her having company, but gifting her the *flat*? That’s not a box of chocolates! I tried to explain how unfair it felt. *”Mum, I’m your son. Oliver’s your grandson. You’ve never even seen him, and you’re handing everything to a stranger?”* She just sighed. *”Edward, you’re never here. Harriet is. It’s my choice.”*
The bitterness swelled in my chest. No, I don’t visit every month—I’ve got work, a mortgage, a family. But I always thought we were in this together. Oliver’s only four—I imagined that flat might one day help with his education, his first home. Now it’s gone to Harriet, someone I’d never heard of until today. I asked Mum if she worried Harriet might be taking advantage. She cut me off: *”I know what I’m doing. She’s good people.”*
After the call, I couldn’t settle. Emily suggested we drive down to see her—so we did, with Oliver in tow. Mum hugged us all, but her smile was tight. Over tea, I brought it up again, trying to stay calm. *”Mum, explain it to me. If you needed help, I’d come more, I’d hire someone. But why give the flat away?”* She looked at me, exhausted. *”Edward, I don’t want to be a burden. Harriet takes care of me. You’ve got your hands full.”*
That stung more than I expected. Does she really think we’d see her as a burden? I told her we’re her family, that Oliver asks about his grandma, that I *want* to be there. But she just shook her head. In that moment, I realised—she’s lonely. And Harriet’s filled the space I left empty. It’s a painful thought.
We drove home, and I still don’t know what to do. Legally, there’s no contesting it—Mum’s sound of mind, and it’s her right. But I can’t shake the hurt. So I’ll call more. Visit. Make sure Oliver knows her. Maybe, in time, she’ll see we’re her real family. As for Harriet… I hope she genuinely cares. But this whole mess has taught me one thing: don’t take time with the people you love for granted. Life’s too short for regrets.
